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New York tours: inside the UN Headquarters

It’s strange to think that, among the bristling towers of Manhattan, there exists a tiny, independent territory. It covers only 18 acres and has no inhabitants; American rules don’t apply here; it has its own tax system, its own stamps, and its own police force. It even has its own army, which it borrows from everyone else. It is, of course, the United Nations Headquarters.

It’s an odd sight. Four great slabs of concrete and glass: one upright, one flat, one clearly an afterthought, and the largest sagging like an old sofa. As with everything at the UN, its architecture is the work of a committee, though Le Corbusier held sway. For years, his 1949 masterpiece, “Scheme 23A”, dominated the skyline (and even appeared in films such as Batman and Live and Let Die). Now, however, it looks rather shrunken and pale, like a faithful old computer. That, I suppose, is the trouble with modernism; it can suddenly look defunct.

Along the East River, tour boats pull in close and mock the slabs. “All the rooms are identical,” jeers the guide, “to stop 'em arguing whose is better!” Meanwhile, New Yorkers barely seem to notice this cuckoo in their nest. Before my visit, I stopped at the nearby Comfort Diner, an old steak-and-eggs joint. “We get loadsa princes and presidents in here,” the waitress said. “Which princes?” I asked, but she neither knew nor cared. To New Yorkers, no one matters as much as themselves. Perhaps that’s why the UN thrives here, feeding on the city’s deep democratic mulch.

Replete with beef and beetroot (“red flannel hash”), I tottered down to 1st, and through the visitors’ gate. The frontier of UN-land is made up of flags, a long alphabetical tail wagging its way from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. It seemed odd to be leaving cranky Manhattan for this slightly ascetic political Utopia. Not only are all visitors frisked and X-rayed, but incoming mail is sterilised.

When it was built in 1946, not everyone was happy with the choice of site – or the choice of New York. Alternative suggestions included the Black Hills of Dakota and the middle of the Niagara Falls. Perhaps daftest of all was the idea that the United Nations should become a ship, and float around the world dispensing wisdom and peace.

Today, the most striking feature of a visit is the artwork. For an organisation struggling along in hundreds of languages, art says it all. I spotted stained glass (by Chagall), shattered globes, a guitar made from a Kalashnikov, swords bashed into ploughshares (thanks to the Soviets), a knotted gun (courtesy of Luxembourg) and a gallery of secretary-generals woven into carpets. Only the Chinese had misjudged the mood, with a huge frieze of the Kunming railway, hacked out of ivory.

Inside, I queued behind a party of young German soldiers, and joined a guided tour. The guides wore blue Mondrian suits, and it was said they could offer tours in more than 20 languages, including Swahili. Ours was a Colombian, but she spoke a determined English. “My country,” she declared, “has more child soldiers than anywhere else in the world.” Her vehemence surprised us, a reminder that – for many millions of people – the United Nations is all that stands between them and outright oppression.

It was a sober tour, upwards through the curves of concrete and carpet. Around us were constant reminders of the struggle so far and of the task ahead. On one wall were the words of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, interspersed with the poignant official photos of children orphaned and displaced by war. Elsewhere, we came across a display of porcelain melted by the heat of Nagasaki, and a shredded blue flag that had flown above Baghdad.

Our guide led us on to the debating chambers. Perhaps these were the greatest surprise of all. Somehow, I’d imagined that – like all famous places – they’d be much smaller than they seemed. In fact, the opposite was true. The General Assembly felt like some great extraterrestrial arena, under a dome of green and gold. Way below, I could make out the delegates, rucked together in some contest over international trade.

Next door, in the Security Council, the chamber was smaller but no less momentous. All my life, every great clash of arms has been debated here, and every race for nuclear weapons. Now, to see it for real, with its battered desks and worn carpets, made the world seem even more fragile than ever. How do you design the room which might decide our fate? What do you have on the wallpaper? I peered at it closely: wheat and anchors, circa 1970. “A gift,” said the Colombian, “from Norway.”

Back in the lobby, I had a sudden, sentimental urge to take a piece of the UN home. I settled for a mug and a giant United Nations pencil. Sitting here, in front of me, these now seem rather paltry mementos of a momentous day. But it wasn’t quite the end of the story. Somehow the spirit of the UN seemed to follow me back two blocks to my hotel. Although the Intercontinental Barclay was built during the giddy, golden age of railways, it had always been restrained and discrete. All the great chiefs seem to have stayed here at some time or other: Reagan, Mitterrand, Chirac, Musharraf and Nelson Mandela. There’s rumoured to be a secret tunnel linking it straight to the UN. Meanwhile, at General Assembly time, it’s like the world in 14 storeys, a great multilayered cake of meetings, mosques, committees, feasts and favours.

I liked the idea that history had been made here, among all the Tiffany and plush. This is where Patrice Lamumba stayed on the eve of Congo’s devastating conflict (1960) and where President Ahmadinejad announced that Iran had no nuclear programme (2007). No doubt these rooms will witness plenty more triumphs and deceits. Staying here feels like participation in some grand scheme, or – at the very least – sightseeing in your sleep.

THE BEST HOTELS

The Washington Square Hotel ££ A short cab ride from the UN and once a favourite with P G Wodehouse and Dylan Thomas. Great value, on a delightful square (103 Waverly Place; 001 212 777 9515; washingtonsquarehotel.com; doubles from around £113 a night).

The Intercontinental New York Barclay Hotel £££ Elegant hotel popular with diplomats and heads of state (11 East 48th St; 755 5900; intercontinentalnybarclay. com; doubles from £175 per night).